


These Three Words

by Cherivette



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Gen, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherivette/pseuds/Cherivette
Summary: A collection of one shots based on random three-words writing prompts.1. Healthy, pain, filthy (Ferdinand x Hubert)2. Empire, kid, cattle (Jeralt & M!Byleth)3. Tread, coach, beard (Claude x F!Byleth)4. Moving, scene, horizon (Seteth & Flayn)
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	1. The Goddess' Tears (Ferdinand x Hubert)

**Author's Note:**

> A little explanation: Each weekday my friends and I use three randomly generated words as our art or writing prompt. We only have thrity minutes to create something, be it a draft or just some sketches. It's super fun as no one expects anything perfect from the other. 
> 
> This chapter's prompts were "healthy", "pain", and "filthy".
> 
> I chose Ferdibert for this story because my friend and I fell way too deeply into their shipping hell.  
> Also: I'm sorry.

“You’re filthy.”

At this point, Hubert was completely soaked. The incessive rain had turned the Tailtean Plains into a mess of grime, blood and death with bodies piling up everywhere, their allegiance swallowed by the mud. A cold gust shook his body to the bones, if the war didn’t kill him, this weather surely would.

Of course, he’d been aware of Faerghus’ freezing climate even during springtime, but it didn’t change the fact that he was now shivering uncontrollably. He could only imagine how he must be feeling.

The ribbon must have come off during the battle as the sunshine locks twisted and turned freely on the ground beneath him, their warm glow extinguished by the raging storm above them. He could already hear the complaints once he got to brush the knots out, but it was a battle he gladly faced every morning and evening, if only to run his black fingers through the silken hair.

“How long do you plan to keep on lying there?”

Hubert crouched down besides the man and couldn’t help but notice that the interior fabric of his cape seemed somehow redder than before. His gaze wandered up to his sun-kissed face, clinging onto the chipped lips a little longer than intended. Just before they had set out to the Kingdom territory, they had gently laid against his own, leaving the familiar flavour of the southern fruit blend on them. At times like those, he truly considered humouring his request to trade “the ungodly amounts of coffee”, as he called it, for something healthy, so that he could offer him something sweeter than the bitterness on his tongue. A slight blush had tinted his cheeks once they parted and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from teasing him for it. After seeing him turn nearly as red as his cravat, Hubert just couldn’t imagine any other colour setting his skin aglow. It just seemed wrong to see someone as bright as him this pale.

“Stop fooling around, Ferdinand”, Hubert blamed the cold for his trembling voice. “Her Majesty won’t wait forever.”

He once read that the eyes were the windows to the soul, of course he never believed such nonsense, but that was before he met him. Before he longed for excited spark whenever he gushed about a new tea he had discovered. Before he appreciated their radiant optimism, their fierce gleam in the midst of a fight and their shy gazes once the two men were alone. It had been before he fell in love with those two golden orbs. And before he couldn’t see anything in them anymore.

He didn’t dare to take his eyes off of them, even as he brushed the lose strand out of his bruised face. If there was something left inside of him, if there was still someone inside this broken body, he wouldn’t miss it. But there was no light behind the glass plates, no life to be found behind the dark windows. The Spear of Assal rolled out of his hand, landing in the mud as Hubert buried his nose into the auburn locks. Every time he held him in his arms, he felt a pleasant warmth spreading in his stomach that washed away even the most tiring of days, but not this embrace, not while he could feel his blood soaking through the gloves. Not while the gaping holes in Ferdinand’s chest reflected his own heart. They didn’t expect the vassal’s transformation into a demonic beast as a last effort to turn the tides. They weren’t fast enough to get Dorothea out of there so he charged in headfirst. And the rain, the rain just wasn’t stopping. A believer might have called it the goddess’ tears, but he couldn’t care less. “You always have to play the hero, don’t you…?”

Someone must have cursed him for his vision to blur this badly and his eyes to burn like this. It must be a potent spell for him to feel so much pain, he wanted so scream and yet no sound escaped his lips. Hubert knew exactly who casted it. He promised to see this war through with him. He promised to stay by his side till the end of the line. Ferdinand promised, didn’t he?

“You liar…”

And the goddess cried.


	2. An Inevitable Encounter (Jeralt & M!Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's prompts were "Empire", "kid" and "cattle". 
> 
> I kinda wondered what Jeralt and his mercenaries were doing before coming to Remire Village and why he "owes" them so much (he says that during "The Flame in the Darkness" - Chapter).

If he had to describe Remire Village with one word, it would be “home”.  
Like the place you long for once the dirt paths become too long and the sword at your side too heavy.  
To tell the truth, the place wasn’t particularly noteworthy in any way. Like most villages inside the Empire’s territory, white-walled clay houses with thatched roofs were lined up left and right of the main road that led to a little square where you could find a tavern with a few spare rooms for them to stay in. And yet, it had something that other villages didn’t.  
It wasn’t the architecture that compelled him to come by every time her and his mercenaries left for the northern part of Fódlan. Nor was it the mediocre brew they offered here. No, he knew exactly where to get the good stuff. He came here every spring because of the people who welcomed him as if he had never left in the first place. And every time they did, it became harder to leave again, but he knew that he could never stay in this place forever. The simple life they lead just wasn’t for him. He enjoyed fishing as a hobby but he could never to trade the familiar steel in his calloused hands for a wooden rod and a bucket. Having been raised in Kingdom territory, he knew how to swing a lance before he could even read or write. The art of war and the thrill of the battle, they were etched in every muscle, every inch of his body till the day he finally died.  
No, he didn’t long for the simple life, he longed for the feeling of coming home. Of having someone waiting for him, of giving him a hug and asking him about his day. He longed for a safe place for his kid to grow up and to make friends his age. In the past, whenever he saw children running around the streets, playing tag and laughing together, he could catch his son staring at them with a blank face. And yet, he never asked him if he could join them. Actually, he had never asked for anything his entire life. But that didn’t mean that Jeralt didn’t notice the way his gaze clung onto the merchant’s weapon collection a little longer than usual or the way he looked at the teacup in his hands. It was subtle, you could easily miss the signs if you didn’t know what to look for, but they were there. No one could truly blame him if he bought that expensive sword or took the little boy to one of those stuck-up tea shops just to see the clouds part in his ocean eyes for a brief moment. The first time Jeralt saw a ray of sunlight reflect on those calm waters, they went fishing together near late Teutates. The weather had been good and he wanted to share his passion with the child she had left behind.  
People were often weary of his kid and he couldn’t blame them. Before he learned to look behind his stoic mask, the blank stare he gave him unsettled him as well. How could it not? To have a child who neither laughed, nor cried growing into his mother’s face. But once he had given him his first dagger with the blue scabbard, all his doubts disappeared into thin air. Even after all those years, he still carried it with him like a good-luck charm.  
When he encouraged him to go play with Remire’s children, he came back surrounded by those wailing brats. He clearly remembered his kid’s scraped knees and cuts all over his face, arms and legs. He had twisted his fingers into the fabric of his shirt and stared at the ground below him, yet not a single sound escaped his lips while Jeralt disinfected the wounds. In that regard, he was his son through and through.  
Later on, he discovered that he had fallen down a hill trying to save one of the brats.  
Jeralt had never been prouder to hear the news.  
After that, his kid never played with them again. Not because he didn’t want to, they just never stayed long enough for him to do so. But the brats still swarmed around him every time they passed Remire Village and every time they introduced themselves again. Jeralt blamed the long journeys and many people they met along the way, but when he asked his son to tell him their names the same evening, he never answered. At times like these, he couldn’t help but wonder, if the path he had taken was the right one.  
Soon after they passed the pastures, where the cattle and cows had greeted them with tired moos and curious eyes, he spotted the familiar looking rooftops. Behind him, he heard his men grow chipper with every step they took towards the village. Some of them had family or friends waiting for them there after all.  
The sun was already setting when he finished small-talking with the mayor who had hired him once years ago to deal with some bandits. He started looking for his son amidst the people gathered around them and wasn’t surprised to find him crouching down in front of what he could only assume to be a cat or dog he was petting. At times like these, even he found it hard to imagine that the kid playing with those animals was the same man who bore the infamous moniker of the “Ashen Demon”.  
“Hey, kid”, he called out to him. “Let’s head in for the day.”  
Nearly instantly he stood up and turned towards him, but it wasn’t the round face of a boy that greeted him anymore. It was that of a young man who didn’t need to tilt his head up to look him in the eyes.  
Sometimes he forgot that the kid was already two decades old.  
Sometimes he forgot that it had already been two decades since he traded the love of his life for a little bundle without a heartbeat and without tears named Byleth. Even his name had been her gift.  
For someone who lived as long as he did, the passing of time meant little to nothing, but seeing his son grow up and grow older with each passing day, he started to hear the ticking in his ears again. One day, his kid would leave him as well and nothing in the world scared him more than that.  
The sun didn't even reach the horizon yet, when he finished tying his boots and marched over to his son’s bed. As he stepped closer, he saw his lips move as if he was talking to someone. Maybe he was having that strange dream again that seemed to plague him for some time now. Well, he could ask him later about it.  
“Hey,”, he said while shaking his shoulder, “time to wake up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that Jeralt spends the winter in Empire territory where it's warmer and heads north during spring/summer. As the Kingdom isn't particulary stable after King Lambert's death, there are a lot of bandits roaming around which also means a lot of work for the mercenaries.


	3. The Brightest Star (Claude x F!Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's prompts were "tread", "beard" and "coach".   
> It contains some spoilers about Claude's backgroud!

Two emerald eyes greeted the first rays of sun. Their gaze searching for something and nothing at the same time. They were still there, the old paths he treaded on so long ago, and the memories that awoke with each step he took. He remembered sitting in the dining hall with his friends, back when laughter filled the tall ceilings. He remembered being devoured by his research and losing track of time until Teach had come to his room with a somewhat concerned look on her face.  
Yes, her. He remembered her. She was present in every memory he had of this place, after all this time, he had to admit that she had become so much more to him than just a coach. He had found a friend in her, maybe even something more. He remembered her inviting him to lunch or to a cup of tea. Her teaching him about the proper way to wield a sword. Her ruffling his hair after he had passed the certification exam. And her smile. He remembered her smile most of all. As rare as the rarest of herbs, he used in his poisons and as bright as the brightest star on the night sky that once guided him through the desert. And then she had faded away. Wordless, soundless, just like she had come to his world. No one knew what had happed to their professor on that day five years ago, nor where she had gone. Her body was never found in the end. Something deep inside of him clung onto the emptiness she had left behind. Something deep inside of him defied any logic of his mind and just believed. He believed that she was still out there, somewhere. And as long as her smile didn’t fade from his memory, he kept on believing in her. He just hoped that the day wouldn’t come as soon as he feared. One evening, when his back was hurting from the countless hours he had spent over maps, reports and tactics, his thoughts wandered back to her lessons. When they talked about the different advantages and disadvantages of weapons, instead of discussing how to deal the finishing blow on a former classmate. Terrified he noticed, that he had forgotten the sound of her voice. And if it hadn’t been for Ignatz’s painting hanging in his office, he was sure to have forgotten her face as well. Five years had passed, after all. Five years since the day they promised to see each other during the Millennium Festival. He wondered if anyone else remembered it or was mad enough to follow through with it. They were in the midst of a war after all. It was hard enough for him to leave the Alliance in his current position, but he knew that Nader would do just fine as his substitute. The official reason behind his sudden departure was, that he wanted to assess Garreg Mach’s position as a new base to secure the border and it was true in some way.  
Sunlight flooded the hallway he was standing in and warmed his sore muscles. Fódlan was way colder than Almyra, that was for sure, he would never grow accustomed to the temperatures here. Seeing the monastery in its current state stung more than expected. He never thought that he, out of all people, would feel this sentimental about a place like this. He barely had any connections to the Church in the first place and had only stayed here for a year. How odd, that even after such a short time someone could grow this attached to the tall brick walls and miss the bell’s tune. No, it wasn’t really the monastery his heart ached for. It was the people he got to meet here. And all the memories he made with them. The distinct clacking of heels echoing up the staircase caught him off-guard. He turned towards the sound and… And there she was. Suddenly the sketches he had drabbled in his notebook didn’t do her any justice anymore. The unique sound of her steps on the cobblestone. He remembered it all. How could he forget it in the first place?  
“You overslept, Teach!”, he must be grinning like an idiot. “Pretty rude to keep a fella waiting like that. Wouldn’t you say?”  
She kept staring at him for a moment, squinting her eyes somewhat as if it would help her recognize him better and then they widened. “What’s with that surprised look, my friend?”, he teased as he met her in the middle of the hall. “You didn’t really think I’d given up on you coming back. Did you?”  
Her hand moved up to his cheeks, those slender fingers ghosting over his skin. “A beard, huh…?”, she said. And the melody of her words returned to the picture hanging above his desk. “It looks good on you.” And then, out of all the things she could have done, she smiled. And his night sky didn’t seem as dark as before.


	4. Moving On (Seteth & Flayn)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time the prompts were: "moving", "scene" and "horizon".  
> I was thinking about Setetha and Flayn's time before the monastery, so here's the result.  
> It's a little rushed and contains spoilers about their true identity!

“CETHLEANN!”  
Like a sword strike her scream tore right through his heart. Emerald eyes frantically searched for the source and found it too late. Never would he forget how the flames of the lance extinguished themselves in her body. How the glowing light disappeared inside of her too easily, too smoothly, as she threw her arms around their daughter. No, he didn’t hear his own cry as the scales pierced his skin. With all of his strength he launched forward towards them and squashed the knight like a bug, but it didn’t bring him any satisfaction to see the blood pooling underneath his claws. It didn’t bring back the love of his life lying at his feet, her arms wrapped tightly around the small frame of their little starlight, who remained unmoving against the flow of time. Green was the colour of the life leaving her. Like liquid emeralds they tainted the ground below her. Green was the colour of her beautiful hair, like the first leaves budding in spring now crushed and trampled beneath bloody boots. Green had been the colour of their brothers and sisters who now shone in a terrible red light.  
And then it was over.  
As he screamed for a healer, the soldiers around him roared in triumph.  
As the earth slipped from underneath his feet, they raised their hands towards the heavens.  
As his world fell into darkness, a new dawn rose from the ashes of war.  
He woke up drenched in sweat in a place he did not recognize. Instead of the low terracotta ceiling a dark stone greeted him. Through the faint light that shone through the curtains, he saw a desk and chair facing him. Cethleann! His eyes searched for the familiar light green hair in the twilight and didn’t find it. Goddess, please… He could feel panic rising inside of him when his gaze fell on the blue uniform carefully hung on the door of a massive oak wardrobe. And then it all clicked. Seteth. He was Seteth now, the archbishop’s assistant and advisor. It was just a dream. He took a deep breath as he massaged his temples, trying to steady his pounding heart. It was just a dream. The same nightmare that kept chasing him through the centuries, to be more precise. They had become rarer, of course, but whenever he believed to have found some peace, they descended upon him like a hungry pack of dire wolves, reminding him of his weakness.  
A quick glance to the clock revealed to him that he would have to get up in a few minutes anyway to get his daughter. He had promised to go to Rhodos Coast with her, now that she was about to join him in the monastery. The little village they used to live in, had been abandoned to the wimps of time centuries ago. Only a few bricks were left behind to remember it. He felt Cethleann’s hand grip his a little tighter as they walked through the ruins of their former lives to reach the sea. She had only seen the grave once, after finally waking up from her long slumber. Later, Rhea had called him to Garreg Mach Monastery. His new position didn’t give him particularly much free time, so he never had a chance to travel this far.  
The island on which the memorial stood had become a pilgrimage destination for the followers of Saint Cihol. Because of that, it was well maintained, something he appreciated.  
They waded through the shallow water hand in hand to reach the little island where the grave stood surrounded by different stone tablets. Cethleann placed the white lilies on the grey stone and folded her hands in a silent prayer. He did the same. In the darkness of his mind he conjured her image again. The woman he fell in love with so many years ago. The love of his life, who was smiling at him through a distant memory. He remembered spending their time at the coast, just the three of them, on a day similar to this one. She was holding the fishing rod, while little Cethleann was sitting on his lap. The soft ocean breeze running through their hair and the sun warming their skin. A scene he would never see again.  
His heart was aching when he lowered his hand again. There was no point in dwelling on the past, she would have never wanted that. For her sake, they had to keep moving on and to do that, they had to let go of the past. He pushed one of the stone tablets aside, revealing a hidden hole beneath. He placed the spear and the staff inside and sealed the tablet with his crest, after pulling it back in place.  
When they set out for the monastery again, the sun was already sinking into the ocean.  
“Well, Flayn”, he said while he helped her onto the wyvern. “Shall we go now.”  
“Yes, dear brother.” She smiled at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wanted to add a scene where Seteth holds the Hero's Relic (Luin) in his hands that killed his wife and injured Flayn, which intertwines with his and Ingrid's support, but it didn't fit into the ff anymore... 
> 
> Little side thought:  
> Do Nabateans even have a heartbeat?  
> I mean, Byleth surely doesn't and she was implanted a crest stone, which are supposed to be the hearts, right?


End file.
